


No Vacancies

by darter_blue, the1918



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Big dick Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Co-workers, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, M/M, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Size Kink, Strength Kink, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darter_blue/pseuds/darter_blue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1918/pseuds/the1918
Summary: Steve Rogers might have a pretty face, but fuck is he a pain in the ass.***In which Bucky and Steve have a sexually charged, warring relationship as co-workers, and the conference hotel has a double-booking problem.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 122
Kudos: 940





	No Vacancies

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to Kel ([Kalee60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalee60) / [@Kalee60](https://kalee60.tumblr.com/)), a treasure to this fandom and a golden piece of humanity. On this glorious day, we present to you a fic with:
> 
> 1) Enemies to Lovers  
> 2) There Was Only One Bed  
> 3) Big Dick "I'll Manhandle You" Rogers
> 
> Happy birthday, darling ❤

  


* * *

Steve Rogers might have a pretty face, but _fuck_ is he a pain in the ass.

Bucky Barnes is not one to judge (he’s _not_ ) but he’s already pissed about this conference. He’s pissed because he’s been given almost no preparation time for a presentation that he’s been asked to give at the last minute. He’s pissed because the flight was delayed and the seats were rearranged and he ended up stuck next to Mr. Giant Shoulders and He of the Ridiculous Chest, Steve Rogers, who takes up more space than a mac truck and snores just as loudly (who sleeps on a one hour flight— _who?_ ).

And now. _And now,_ they are fighting over the fucking cab. Bucky doesn’t want to share and Steve is having none of it.

“James, we’re going to the same hotel, we’ll be presenting at the same conference. It doesn’t make any sense to take separate cabs.”

“Rogers, I can’t sit next to you for another second. Please remove your hand from the door of my cab,” Bucky says, with as much polite indifference as he can squeeze into his voice. “Get. Your. Own. Cab.”

“It’s wasteful, James,” Steve practically sings, side stepping around Bucky and pretzeling his enormous frame into the back seat. “Bad for the expense report. Get in or we’re going to be even later than we already are.”

And the thing is, the cab ride, this forced shared space, it's not awkward, and it’s not uncomfortable. There's a charged atmosphere between them—filled with irritation, yes, animosity certainly—but it’s never awkward.

Bucky hates that it's not. It makes it so much harder to dislike Steve. It makes it even _harder_ to dislike him when he catches Steve’s eyes burning little trails along Bucky’s body when Steve thinks he isn’t looking.

“You need to learn to relax, James,” Steve says, too softly, too close to Bucky's ear.

Bucky keeps his body still, doesn't give in to the urge to shiver, doesn't reveal how much the touch of Steve's thigh against his is affecting him. Instead, he focuses on the words. And of course Steve's advice would be to relax. Steve “Frat Bro” Rogers, who's had everything in his life handed to him. The personification of the American dream.

“Some of us can't afford to relax, Rogers, not everyone is as perfect as you.”

Steve lets out a startled cough, “I'm sorry what?” he says, grinning. “I'm perfect?”

And Bucky is shaking his head, no, no, no, no, _no_. “That was not meant as a compliment!” he tries to backtrack. “It was meant derisively.”

“I'm derisively perfect?” Steve's eyebrows are raised and his cheeks are pink and Bucky can't tell if he’s embarrassed or gleeful. He's been avoiding those eyebrows for so long he's never learned to interpret them.

“You… should shut up and move back to your side of the cab,” Bucky says, a little too sharp. A little too cruel. But Steve is messing with his head.

He doesn't need this today.

And in typical Steve Rogers fashion, he smiles at Bucky, like it's a joke. Like Bucky is amusing.

“Sure thing, James. I'll just be all the way over here then,” and moves himself the entire three inches back to his own seat, manspreading his fucking legs for days until his knee is knocking Bucky’s anyway.

And just to spite him, Bucky refuses to move his own. They sit with their knees pressed together for the entire rest of the cab ride.

In silence.

Fuck Bucky’s life.

* * *

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Now Bucky is standing at the reception of the fancy hotel they've been put up in by Stark and somehow there are no rooms left. Somehow there are _precisely_ only enough rooms left for him and Steve cunting All-American-Square-Jaw Rogers to share a single room.

"I am not ‘kidding you,’ sir," the etherally blond receptionist says, shaking his head gravely. "There was a terrible mix up with the two conference dates, and we've double booked."

"Un-double book it please," Bucky bites, eye twitching. "I will not share a room with this man."

"A bed."

Bucky looks at the beefy blond himbo of a receptionist—’Thor’ on his name tag, which must be a joke—and counts to five. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's a single room, you'd be sharing a bed."

Steve pipes in for the first time since they've been standing at this pretentious red oak reception desk, "Maybe we could ask you to set up a cot?"

"Yes!" Bucky agrees, turning from Steve to the receptionist. "Anything, I'll sleep on a sofa bed, a futon, whatever you've got."

"I'm afraid there's nothing. They've all been taken by other guests sharing the single rooms.”

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

"I feel like I answered that already," the receptionist (Bucky refuses to call him Thor, that cannot be his name) just looks confused and Bucky feels sorry for him, but he mostly wants to jump across the counter and strangle him.

"We are late because this asshole tried to steal my cab and now I have to _share a bed with him!_ ”

"It made no sense to take a separate cab, James," Steve starts.

Bucky cuts him off with a cutting motion. "Stop being so fucking reasonable for one second."

"Thor," Steve leans over the desk.

"His name _can't_ be Thor."

"It definitely is," the guy says with a smile, infuriatingly jovial.

"Thor, sorry, it's been a long day, can we just make sure there isn't _any_ way we can avoid sharing a bed?"

Thor ( _not_ his real name) goes back to his computer, but he's not even pretending to press any keys. "Nope, I'm afraid not. Looks like you're stuck together." And the smile on his face is the textbook definition of insincere.

Fuck fucking _fuck_ Bucky’s life _._

* * *

“So this is happening?” Bucky asks. He points between Steve and himself, then to the tiny-looking double mattress. “We’re really sharing this bed?”

Steve has called the first shower and has already turned the water on to heat. He’s gotten over the situation at a speed that is light years ahead of Bucky’s irritation, and now he’s already at the point where he seems to be enjoying Bucky’s foul mood. He gives Bucky a shit-eating grin as shrugs off the button-up shirt he’d worn on the plane and tosses his duffel into the bathroom, where the steam from the shower is beginning to billow out.

At first Bucky thinks Steve isn’t going to answer at all—but then the bastard reaches a hand behind himself and tugs his undershirt up over his head. Right in front of Bucky.

Jesus. Mr. Giant Shoulders is huge and fucking _ripped_.

“What’s wrong, James?” Steve asks, feigning concern. “Afraid I’m gonna turn out to be a cuddler?”

The warmth heating Bucky’s face as Steve disappears into the bathroom is either from rage or arousal. Bucky doesn’t know which.

Bucky’s shower is colder than he’d normally take it. It’s very much on purpose.

He can’t get the image of Steve when he’d emerged from the bathroom out of his head. He’d stepped out in nothing but a thin pair of joggers—and when Bucky thinks ‘nothing,’ he _definitely_ means sans-underwear. The weight swinging behind that fabric had definitively nixed the presence of boxers or briefs. Bucky’s hand keeps trying to wander below his waist to do more than just washing, but he won’t let it. He’ll be damned if he gives that jackass the satisfaction of being the subject of his dirty jerk-off fantasies.

(He convinces himself that the five extra minutes he spends with soap-slick fingers ‘cleaning’ between his ass cheeks isn’t the same kind of offense—he’s not actually jerking off, and he’s only thinking about Steve for fifty percent of that time. Maybe seventy.)

* * *

It’s dark in the hotel room. The lamps are off and the curtains are closed, leaving only a sliver of moonlight to light their shared space.

Bucky turns over, and Steve lets out an exasperated-sounding sigh.

“You gonna toss and turn and keep us both up all night?”

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes before realizing that Steve can’t see that in the dark.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Maybe I’d be asleep already if your stupid, long-ass legs weren’t all over the place.”

And then suddenly Bucky is glad that it’s dark, because that means that his bed mate can’t catch him wincing at himself. Did he really just admit out loud that he has been paying a very _particular_ kind of attention to the length of Steve’s legs?

Steve barks out a laugh at Bucky’s comment, but he does gather up his limbs and return them to his own side of the bed—although not before allowing what feels like a very slow, intentional slide of the top of his foot along the curve of Bucky’s calf muscle.

Bucky can’t suppress the shudder from making its way up the column of his spine.

“Point taken,” Steve says. “You sure it’s just my legs keeping you awake? I’ve been able to hear your head spinning for the past half hour.”

Bucky remains quiet even when that silence feels amplified by their proximity. There _is_ something else keeping him awake, but Steve ‘I Sleep Shirtless Next to Co-Workers’ Rogers is not his ideal choice of a friendly face to unload his worries on.

... Even if it _would_ make him feel a whole lot better to curl up on that granite-hard chest and let the warmth of it lull him to sleep.

“ _Jaaaames_ ,” Steve sing-songs. He’s still laying on his side, facing Bucky. “C’mon, let it out. Just got this one little bed; if you’re not sleeping, I’m not sleeping.”

Then, in contrast to the ass-face tone in his voice, Steve reaches an arm out somewhere in the dark and settles one of his huge, broad hands right on Bucky’s shoulder. The soft heat and surprisingly gentle touch feels a lot nicer than Bucky wants it to.

“Bucky,” he hears himself say. His voice is soft and a shock to his own ears. “All my friends call me Bucky.”

Steve doesn’t respond for a moment. He also doesn’t move his hand, and Bucky feels strange to learn that he doesn’t mind.

“I know,” Steve eventually responds, and something about it sounds almost solemn. “That’s what I hear Sam and Nat call you around the water cooler. Just didn’t think I met the criteria for ‘friend.’”

“Alright. Friends and unexpected bed mates.”

Steve laughs suddenly, and it’s a bark-like noise that sounds so damn genuine and nothing at all like the asshole, bratty laughter he’s always directed at him in the past, and Bucky… Bucky likes it.

And now his stomach feels tingly.

“Okay then, Bucky. Spit it out. What’s on your mind?”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s shoulder and then pulls his hand away. Bucky tries to ignore the feeling of disappointment that fills up his chest.

“Jesus. Fine. But you can’t make fun of me.”

The tiny bit of moonlight filtering through the curtains is just enough light for Bucky to see Steve making a silent gesture with his hand, and it looks a lot like he’s making an ‘x’ shape over his heart— _Cross my heart, hope to die._

Dork.

“Tomorrow,” Bucky says. He rolls onto his back with a defeated sigh, not caring if he’s rucking up the comforter, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “The presentation. I’ve never… I’ve never led one at a conference this big before.”

Steve chuckles.

“You kidding? You’ll be _great_ , Buck.”

And oh, wow. Just a minute ago Steve was still calling him ‘James,’ and now he’s moved on to calling him a nickname for his nickname. The tingly feelings in Bucky’s gut intensify.

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually,” Steve says, and then Bucky feels the mattress sink a little more as Steve puts his weight on one elbow to sit halfway up on his side, looking down at him. Bucky feels naked under his eyes. “Actually, I do. I was in the room when Fury and Coulson were discussing who would lead this thing. It wasn’t a long conversation.”

Steve’s admission startles Bucky. “I… Really?”

“Really. You gotta know that there’s nobody at StarkTech better than you for this; _no_ one knows more than you about these new arms. The only way you could possibly be more of an expert on this tech is if you had one of our prosthetics yourself.”

The assurances make Bucky feel strangely better… a lot better, actually, which is more than weird considering they’re coming from a guy who Bucky couldn’t stomach the idea of sharing a cab with not two hours ago.

He tears his eyes away from the safety of the ceiling to look at Steve—and then he regrets the choice immediately.

Steve is resting his head in his hand and staring down at Bucky with unmistakable sincerity in his gaze. Bucky’s eyes have slowly been adjusting to the darkness, so he can spot the way Steve’s stupidly long eyelashes fan over the tops of his cheeks and the little loose tendril of blond hair hanging down over his forehead. He can also see the ghost of a smile.

“I, um,” Bucky stumbles. “Thanks.”

Steve’s smile widens like he’s happy with himself for making him feel better about tomorrow. A deep-down part of Bucky is pissed that he’s given Steve any opportunity to feel pride, but a better part of him smothers the irritation, because maybe Steve Rogers isn’t such a shit guy after all.

And also his bicep is so thick that Bucky is positive he couldn’t wrap his fingers around it if he had three hands for the job, and the way Steve is sitting on his side pushes his enormous pecs together to create what Bucky can only describe as ‘cleavage,’ and he kind of wants to swipe his dick through it.

Fuck his life.

“Anytime,” Steve answers. He’s still smiling.

Bucky expects him to lay back down, but he doesn’t. Steve just keeps on staring down at Bucky without a single word on his lips, and Bucky finds that he can’t look away. Their eyes only break from each other’s when Steve’s gaze starts crawling down Bucky’s neck, and then his chest, and then his waist, and it’s only then that Bucky realizes that all of his own shifting around has ended with the comforter pushed down below his hips and the bottom hem of his shirt scrunched up to his mid-stomach. The vulnerable expanse of skin between his groin and navel is bare, completely on display for Steve’s viewing. His gaze lingers on the spot for far too long to be anything but intentional.

Bucky is about to give into the urge to squirm under his scrutiny when he sees Steve licking his lips without taking his eyes off of Bucky’s hip bones, and the low-simmering sexual tension that has always seemed to bubble between suddenly heats to a boil.

And then Steve tears his gaze away and locks eyes with Bucky one more time as he lays back down.

“Good night, Buck.”

Bucky stares in something like shock as Steve winks at him—barely visible in the almost-dark—and then casually turns away to his other side like all of that didn’t just happen.

“I…” Bucky starts, not knowing where he’s going. “I—Good night, Steve.”

So Bucky does the only thing he can do after that bizarre turn of events. He rolls to his side so he and Steve are back-to-back, bodies separated by less than three feet of empty space in their tiny double bed, and he closes his eyes.

* * *

It’s still dark outside when Bucky’s eyes open again. He’s in the same position he was in when he’d finally fallen asleep.

He’s also got a thick arm wrapped around his waist and a hard dick pressing up against his ass, and oh dear god—

That thing is a fucking _monster_.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, hoping that he can wake Steve up enough for him to notice where he is and what he’s doing and then make him roll back onto his side of the bed before they’re both mortified and embarrassed. “ _Steve—_ ”

“—You talk in your sleep. You know that?”

Steve whispers the words with a breathy, sleep-gruff voice right into Bucky’s ear, and it shakes him so badly that he can’t stop his moan from trembling right out of his chest. He had definitely thought Steve was asleep.

…And he _definitely_ hadn’t realized that his own cock is hard in his sleep pants and—Jesus fucking Christ—leaking.

“I, um—”

“Do you even _know_ that you were whimpering my name?”

Fuck fuck _fuck_ and now it’s all coming back to him. His dream. His own body spread out over the hotel mattress with Steve Rogers’s hands on his skin, roaming over him, touching him… pushing fingers and tongue inside him and—

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky whispers to himself.

Steve’s arm tightens around his waist enough to actually move Bucky’s body with just the strength of that one limb, pulling his back and ass closer into Steve’s chest, Steve’s lap.

“‘S okay, baby,” and oh no, Bucky is weak in his bones for that little pet name. “You can have what you want.”

Steve’s hand starts moving—slowly, almost cautiously—from its wrap on Bucky’s hip down towards his groin, and for a moment Bucky has to hold his breath because he thinks Steve is going to touch his cock, but Steve stops short. He slips just the tip of his thumb below the hem of Bucky’s shirt. Even that one little point of skin-on-skin contact feels like fire.

 _“Is_ this what you want, Buck?” Steve asks.

It’s clear in his voice that he’s asking for permission, that he’ll remove his hand the second Bucky says no, and it makes Bucky feel better; it’s another reassurance that maybe Steve isn’t actually a complete asshole—not that that would stop Bucky from begging him to fuck his brains out.

“Yes.” He feels overwhelmed and shaky with arousal, whether from his dream or Steve against his back or both, and he’s honestly a little bit afraid of the sheer mass of this thing pressing between his ass cheeks—but _fuck_ if Bucky doesn’t want it inside him. “ _Yes_.”

And apparently that’s all Steve needs to hear, because then Bucky’s world is spinning and he’s on his back in the center of the bed and Steve “Twice Your Size” Rogers is on top of him, caging him in and running his spit-slick lips along the stubbled cut of Bucky’s jaw.

“Do you have any idea,” Steve says, kissing gently along Bucky’s skin and making his way up to Bucky’s ear, “How long I’ve been wanting to touch you like this, Buck?”

And Bucky... Bucky knows how long _he’s_ been wanting Steve to touch him. He knows how long he’s been fantasizing about Steve’s giant hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him into his lap as he sits behind his austere desk, everything so neatly in its place. Bucky knows exactly how long he’s been wanting Steve to sweep an arm across all of that repression and just push Bucky onto the wood, hold him down and crash into him.

It’s been every single day since Bucky started at StarkTech.

He wonders if it’s been that long for Steve.

“I remember the first time you walked into my office,” and Steve is whispering the words to Bucky, lips barely brushing against his ear, “All dressed up in your waistcoat, those clear framed glasses.” He runs his hands down to Bucky’s hips, thumb tracing over the prominent bones there. “These hips, Buck,” and then his hands move lower, Steve’s palms flat against Bucky’s thighs, “ _Christ_ , these thighs.”

Bucky has to gasp sharply to catch his breath as Steve slides his hands around to the underside of Bucky's thighs and shoves them up against his stomach. His lungs feel molten.

“I’m going to ruin these thighs of yours, baby.” Steve presses his entire body against Bucky, pinning his legs to his body and bending him almost in half. “I’m going to bruise you so beautifully, Buck, dig my fingers in and spread you wide, would you let me do that to you?” Steve asks, his voice like thick, dark syrup, sliding down Bucky’s spine. “Would you let me ruin you, Bucky?”

“ _Fuck_ yes,” and Bucky couldn’t stop the words even if he wanted to. “I just want you inside me.”

Steve smiles against his neck, and it’s practically the grin of a predator. Bucky feels like he’s melting through the mattress and looking up at his body from the floor.

“Guess I better get you out of those clothes.”

And then Steve starts _moving_ , taking and pulling and maybe almost ripping fabric to shed Bucky’s pants and his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his briefs while Steve still wears his joggers. The casual manhandling gets Bucky’s rock-hard dick even harder in his underwear, and he knows that if someone turned on the lights they’d find a wet patch on the front.

“Gonna put my mouth all over this body,” Steve husks against the underside of Bucky’s chin.

Bucky’s embarrassingly wanton moan is cut off by Steve’s mouth against his—finally—and oh dear _god_ he wasn’t ready for the way Steve knows exactly how to wreck him with just his lips and tongue. He bites down on Bucky’s lower lip with enough force to make it sting, and then he uses Bucky’s gasp as an opportunity to lick deep into his mouth, one big hand on the back of his neck while the other spreads open his thighs.

“Steve,” Bucky mewls. _“Steve…”_

“Fuck, sweetheart. Sounds so good when you say it.”

Bucky doesn’t have time to think about the way one more sweet pet name is going to make his lungs combust, because then Steve is wedging his hips between Bucky’s legs and grinding their cocks together through the thin layers of fabric.

“Unh— _want it_ ,” he whines. “Fuck me, Steve. Please fuck me.”

“Yeah, baby,” Steve gasps, his mouth moving down to nip at Bucky’s jaw before he suddenly groans. “I—shit. I don’t have any lube or condoms. Fuck.”

Steve rests his head against Bucky’s collarbone and breathes out hot against his skin, but his hips don’t stop their grinding.

“I’ve got lube,” Bucky says. “And didn’t you do your physical for insurance with the rest of us last month? I did it, I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone in forever.” And Christ, why does Bucky have no brain to mouth filter? "We can bring up our results on our phones.”

Steve rumbles deeply against Bucky’s skin and nods. Bucky pulls Steve’s head up and draws him in for another kiss.

“Want you to go bare inside me,” he rasps against his lips. “Want you to fill me up.”

Steve fucking _growls_ and moves down again, his teeth and wet tongue going apeshit on Bucky’s neck, and Bucky is so, so glad that he’s wearing nothing but collared shirts in public for the rest of the week.

“ _Fuck_ yeah. Gonna fill you up, gonna stuff you full of my fingers, my cock.” He bites down hard on Bucky’s neck. “Gonna make you drip my come.”

They spend everything left of their collective willpower to separate themselves in order to go through the work of fetching the lube and sharing the results of their testing. As soon as they’ve each confirmed that the other is clean, it’s less than a second before Steve is peeling Bucky’s briefs off and tossing him onto the bed like weight and gravity no longer exist.

He stands at the foot of the mattress and stares at Bucky; a lion eyeing down its prey.

“I’m going to wreck you, sweetheart,” he says, gravel in his voice as he unties the string holding up his joggers. “And I’m gonna make sure you _feel_ it.”

The next thing out of Bucky’s mouth is nothing more than a whimper, but he’s not sure if it’s due to the heat and promise behind Steve’s words or what he sees when Steve finally removes his pants.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, crawling backwards a couple of inches, suddenly regretting the fact that it has been quite some time since he’s had a dick of any size up his ass. “You’re fucking huge.”

The sound of Steve’s chuckling fills the room.

“Yeah… It’s usually easier to take if you’re on top at first,” Steve smirks. “That way you can take me inch by inch before I pound your little body through the sheets.” He slithers his way onto the bed and slowly covers Bucky’s body with the heat of his own. “But first I gotta get you nice and open for this fat cock of mine—don’t I?”

“Yes,” Bucky gasps, and Steve draws the words out of Bucky’s mouth with his tongue, with his teeth. “Please, Steve. _Please_.”

Steve spreads Bucky’s thighs open and settles between them, petting over the soft skin on the inside soothingly. He reaches over and grabs the lube off the sheets, flicking the cap open before dutifully coating three—oh dear god— _four_ fingers.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whimpers.

“Don’t worry,” Steve assures him with a cocky smile. “I’m gonna take real good care of you before I mess you up.”

Steve’s first finger is perfect and thick and delicious. He massages the tense ring of muscle to tease it, softening Bucky up, but then he slides in with one long push, working it in and out as soon as he’s got it inside.

“So tight, baby, goddamn. Gonna feel like a miracle on my cock.”

He covers Bucky’s mouth and skin in filthy, hot kisses when he starts to add more fingers, sucking gorgeous bruises into his thighs just like Steve had promised he would. He takes the head of Bucky's dick into his mouth when he passes over it, sucking just hard enough to make Bucky want to thrust upwards—but he can't, because Steve is pinning his hip to the bed and it would take two of Bucky to overcome that kind of strength.

“ _Ohmygod,”_ Bucky gasps. “You—I— _fuck_.”

“Mm,” Steve hums, pulling off with a lewd, wet ‘pop’ sound. “Perfect little dick. So sweet in my mouth.”

Bucky whines pathetically.

“One more,” Steve rumbles where he’s slurping on Bucky’s sensitized balls. “I’ll let you take my cock when you take all four fingers.”

It’s a tight stretch when he works in the little finger, but _god_ is the burn of it delightful. Steve swipes his tongue over the blood-hot rim of his hole just to tease.

“There you go. Sweet thing.”

Steve curls his fingers, half of his fucking _hand_ , massaging him from the inside and making Bucky's cock leak into his own navel. He gives his mouth one last crushing kiss before he pulls his fingers out.

“C’mon. Come sit on my cock like a good boy.”

Bucky is so turned on that he might actually start to cry. Steve lays down on his back and pulls Bucky on top of him, and Jesus, the manhandling might just make him come untouched.

“There you go,” Steve praises when Bucky straddles his hips. “So good. Just hold on and I’ll sit you down right.”

Steve really isn’t kidding when he says that all Bucky has to do is hold on. Bucky grips Steve’s shoulders and supports himself with his own thighs, but Steve is the one to raise his body up with just a single hand around his waist while the other hand holds his dick up, guiding his cockhead—his _bare_ cockhead—to Bucky’s stretched-out hole.

“Oh…” Bucky whimpers when the blunt, hot flesh starts to push inside him. “Oh, _oh—_!”

“‘S okay, shh… shh. Take it easy, sweetheart.”

But Jesus, the stretch is full and _real_. Bucky’s never taken a dick like it before. Even his biggest dildo doesn’t come close to Steve’s girth.

“ _Steve_ ,” he whines as his lover starts to lower him down with his hands. Bucky really is just a blissed-out ragdoll at this point. “Steve, I _—_ ”

“Feeling good, Buck? Does this cock stretch nice up in you?” He smiles when Bucky nods his head furiously.  “ _Fuck_ , ‘s like heaven. Feel so perfect on my dick.”

He and Steve hiss at the sensation together when Bucky is finally all the way down his length. It’s so much— _so_ much—and Bucky can’t remember ever feeling this full. His breathing is heavy, his dick hard and aching and halfway to exploding already.

“Want you,” Bucky gasps. “Want you to—need you—”.

“ _Please_ , baby,” Steve groans, tightening his bruising grip even more on Bucky’s hips. “I need to move. Can I move in you?”

Bucky whines and nods his head hard enough to hurt his neck, and then suddenly his hips are being lifted upwards, and he’s pulled almost entirely off of Steve’s cock only to be yanked back down. It happens again, and again, and Bucky isn’t moving a damn muscle the entire time.

 _“Yeah,”_ Steve gasps, holding his hips and undulating him all around, looking down where they’re joined as his movements tug and stretch the strained entrance of Bucky’s body. “Sweetheart, so good on my cock. _Fuck.”_

And Bucky is just along for the ride.

He starts to really fall apart once Steve tilts Bucky’s weight back and runs the thick tip of his cock against Bucky’s prostate. It’s torture; it gets Bucky’s dick leaking like a broken faucet. They’re both sweating now, and Steve looks glorious with nothing but moonlight and perspiration lighting the pale skin around his beard.

And Bucky can’t take much more. He can feel himself losing control, can feel his orgasm ready to crash over him.

“Don’t fight it, baby,” Steve whispers, sitting up to close in on Bucky, lifting Bucky so easily to sit him in his lap. “I wanna see you come, mark me up with it, Buck, with that pretty little dick of yours, I’ll feed it all back to you sweetheart. Let you lick it right off my fingers.”

And fuck, fuck, that’s all it takes, Steve whispering filth in his ear so sweet, that voice like molasses, and he cries out as it takes him. Painting both their chests with white hot stripes of come.

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck, yes, look at you.” Steve’s kiss crashes into Bucky’s mouth. And just as he promised, Steve is swiping his fingers through the mess to slide them into Bucky’s open mouth. “See how good you taste baby. So fucking good for me.”

Bucky might be crying for real now, he can’t tell. His body is just a mass of raw nerves, and Steve is still fucking up into him, driving that monster cock up and into Bucky, harder and faster. And then suddenly Bucky is flying, he’s flipped around and onto his back. Steve is pulling out and lowering his face down to Bucky’s chest, putting his tongue on Bucky and licking up through the come there, all the way up to Bucky’s mouth and then he’s kissing him again.

Bucky can taste himself there, can taste the sweat and the salt and the sticky come and something that’s none of it, something that’s just Steve.

Fuck, why does he even _taste_ amazing. Steve Rogers is going to be the fucking death of him. 

“God, you do, you really do,” Steve is saying, pulling back to look down at Bucky. “You taste amazing.”

Bucky wants to hide his face. He wants to sink down into the sheets away from the praise, but he also never wants Steve to stop. It feels so good; he feels warm just from the words, and Bucky loves it.

“Gonna hold you down now, sweetheart, will you be good?”

Bucky just nods, so languid from his orgasm that he’ll do anything Steve asks of him right now. And Steve takes Bucky’s hands, lifts his arms up over his head and holds them there with one hand. With the other he guides himself back into Bucky, stretching him again with his size. And Bucky is on fire.

“Promised I would pound you into these sheets didn’t I?” Steve says, and the words are hard but his smile is soft. Bucky is so wrecked. He’s floating and his skin is on fire, he’s vibrating with the intensity and he can feel his dick start to fill again, feel himself getting impossibly hard. “Fuck, Bucky,” Steve cries as he feels Bucky’s hard cock against his stomach. “ _Jesus_. You really are perfect.”

And Steve loses it then, slamming his cock into Bucky again and again as he holds his arms down, kisses Bucky over and over, messy and open mouthed, whispering praise to him in gasps, Bucky is _so good_ , he’s _so beautiful_ , he’s _so perfect_. But to Bucky it's all becoming static, and his mind blanks, and his body lights up like a power grid.

It’s too soon when he feels Steve arch his back, hears him moan long and guttural, feels hot come shooting into him, filling him up, wave after wave and there’s so _much_ —so much that it really is leaking out of him. Bucky can’t hold it when his dick bursts again, doesn’t even try or try to figure out when he had gotten so rock hard again. He just lets his body go, he follows Steve, coming for the second time untouched as Steve rocks him through it and lets Bucky ride it out on his enormous cock.

“Jesus, fuck, twice, Bucky? Really?” Steve drapes his entire giant body over Bucky as he lets his hands go, bringing them gently down to Bucky’s sides. He smiles down at him, wicked. “Always an overachiever aren’t you, baby?”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Bucky gasps, but it’s entirely without venom. He can’t help the stupid, syrup-thick grin he can feel taking over his face. “I am definitely not the overachiever here.” And then he tilts his hips up where Steve’s monster cock is still inside him, still huge, even flaccid as it must be now.

Steve doesn’t take the bait. He rocks his hips down lightly into Bucky, dragging a gasp out of him; smug. And Bucky wants to be mad, and he’s gearing up for a better insult, and—

And then Steve reaches up with a hand to brush a strand of Bucky's long hair off his forehead.

“You really are beautiful. You know that?” Steve leans down to press his lips gently to Bucky’s. “Wanna stay like this for a bit before we wash up,” and then he swipes the gentle pad of his thumb over Bucky’s temple. “Can I, sweetheart? Feels so good being inside you.”

And Christ, that shouldn’t make Bucky melt, but it does. He can practically feel the fucking hearts in his eyes, staring up at Steve.

Steve smiles down at him like he can see them too. Smug bastard.

Bucky tries to grumble about the request, but it's half-assed. And Steve’s not wrong; it feels good. He feels warm and soft and safe, crowded in by Steve’s bulk, surrounded by all his smooth skin, so full of cock and come. He doesn’t mind staying like this for just a little bit longer.

He doesn’t even mind that he doesn’t mind.

* * *

They’ve showered, changed, and stripped the sheets off the bed. Steve has to call Thor up for a new set of sheets, and the stupid prick fucking hand delivers them himself at ass o’clock in the morning, smiling his smug fucking grin at them both like he had them pegged.

“Thor is _not_ his real name,” Bucky argues, as Steve attempts to make the bed by himself and Bucky watches from his perch over the minibar.

“It’s a perfectly good name, Buck, I don’t know what your problem is.”

“It’s a porn star name.”

“Well,” Steve looks over his shoulder at Bucky from where he’s bent over the bed, “Maybe he’s a porn star?”

And that sort of stupidity can’t go unpunished. Bucky launches off the refrigerator to tackle Steve into the bed, and then he’s immediately flipped onto his back for his troubles. Steve starts grinding him down into the mattress.

“Oh Buck,” Steve says, shaking his head, grin stretching from ear to ear. “You need to get some sleep right now baby, you have a big day tomorrow,” and Bucky wants to argue, except Steve is pressing him so firmly into the mattress he can’t move, can barely speak. “But I promise that after you wreck that presentation like I wrecked this hole,” and Bucky fucking _shouts_ as Steve rocks his giant cock up against the abused entrance to Bucky’s body, “I’m gonna pin you down in this bed and fuck you again, just like this. And then you know what I’m gonna do?”—Steve licks a filthy hot stripe up his neck and whispers the last part into his ear—“I’m gonna eat myself right out of you.”

And now Bucky is ready to go again. Fuck the presentation tomorrow—today, what-the-fuck-ever. Screw StarkTech and their dumb conference. But, in true Steve Rogers fashion, his newfound lover makes the most infuriating next move.

“But you have to wait for it, sweetheart.” Steve flips them around once again, pulling Bucky into his chest and wrapping an arm around his stomach. “Good boys get big rewards, Bucky. Now go to sleep.”

Oh… Bucky is _so_ going to get him back for this.

And now he has nothing but time to plan.

* * *

As it turns out, Bucky does _not_ have time to plan, because he falls immediately asleep.

Steve watches him the whole time. He strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair and lulls him into peaceful dreams, truly wanting nothing more than for Bucky to do well. He knows Bucky is going to _ace_ the presentation, because everything he told Bucky is true.

He is perfect and beautiful and amazing. And maybe Bucky will finally let Steve treat him in all the ways he deserves.

* * *

Thor sits downstairs at his pretentious red oak reception desk. He laughs at the two idiots in their tiny room, with their tiny bed, who never even noticed that the hotel is barely half full.

He sips his tea.

And he laughs some more.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Becassine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/becassine) for beta. 
> 
> Happy Birthday, Kel! - Lynne and Bec and Bex and the whole Daddy DumpsterTM ❤


End file.
